


Into your arms, surrender

by AvaHasAClosetMurderBoard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, i still dunno how to tag, with a dash of humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28937427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaHasAClosetMurderBoard/pseuds/AvaHasAClosetMurderBoard
Summary: 'A sudden thunderstorm has hit the area, bringing with it strong winds and heavy rain. Visibility is drastically reduced, and thunder echoes loudly and crescendos through the ruins, the bright flashes doing little to illuminate their way forward in the dead of night. Mercy’s boots dig hard into the mud and she staggers when her heels seemingly get stuck on a few particular deeper puddles. She’s hungry, soaked to the bone, and so tired - not to mention the arm haphazardly draped over her shoulders feels like dead weight."Come on, Pharah," she whispers against the rain, "Just a little longer…"'
Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	Into your arms, surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WardenRoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WardenRoot/gifts).



> There's really not much to say about this one, other than I was playing Overwatch last night and the idea came to mind. That's it :P 
> 
> A big thank you to @WishingTree for being the beta for this one ♥
> 
> Also I am really sorry that I'm a mess at replying to comments, I do see and love each and every single one of them, I just tend to forget to actually press the 'reply' button...

The situation they have found themselves in is less than ideal, to say the least.

A sudden thunderstorm has hit the area, bringing with it strong winds and heavy rain. Visibility is drastically reduced, and thunder echoes loudly and crescendos through the ruins, the bright flashes doing little to illuminate their way forward in the dead of night. Mercy’s boots dig hard into the mud and she staggers when her heels seemingly get stuck on a few particular deeper puddles. She’s hungry, soaked to the bone, and so tired - not to mention the arm haphazardly draped over her shoulders feels like dead weight.

"Come on, Pharah," she whispers against the rain, "Just a little longer…"

The woman doesn't reply, but Mercy can feel her trying to move along with her steps, albeit with difficulty. They had lost contact with the rest of the squad more than an hour ago, their comms inexplicably going dead, and Mercy suspects Sombra may have been involved, but she can't be too sure about it.She usually makes a show of letting Overwatch know she was responsible, and yet this time there had been nothing. 

The attack did have Talon's signature all over it, though.

A simple retrieval mission turned into chaos far too quickly, with shots fired and explosions rocking the area. Mercy was ordered to be on standby just in case, considering they hadn’t really expected any sort of trouble, so she was safely tucked away by their vehicle when it all happened. All the noise had startled her away from the files she was studying, and even without any contact with the team, she made the decision to move as quickly as possible towards the site. Her hopes of running into any of her teammates along the path were met, and she ended up finding Pharah. 

And right on time, too, despite them now being completely lost.

She can feel every shiver that wracks across Pharah's body - it’s becoming more and more frequent the longer they stay out in the open, and Mercy would be lying if she said it wasn't worried. Without the Raptora suit in working condition, the metal casing does little to offer any protection against the elements, and there’s only so much Mercy’s staff can do to keep the other woman stable and moving. 

There’s no telling how long they’ve been trekking through ruins when she notices what appears to be an opening in the rocky debris during a bright flash of lightning, the entrance to it created by two fallen columns collapsing on each other. Mercy is not sure what lies beyond it - or even if anything does at all - but begins to painstakingly move them in that direction anyway. Pharah is growing heavier and heavier with every step and Mercy doesn’t think she can keep up for much longer either, especially with her Valkyrie suit sending out warning after warning. 

It’s the best option they’ve got - and probably the only one. 

Her approach is cautious. There’s no telling what could be lingering in the shadows, so Mercy exchanges her staff for her blaster just in case, almost immediately regretting her decision when Pharah wheezes loudly the moment the glow from the healing beam goes out. Letting out a low curse, she lowers the other woman against one of the fallen columns, making sure she’s not in the line of sight of whatever may be lurking inside; then she comes to a crouch and peeks around the corner, gun ready. 

The impromptu entrance does in fact lead to what appears to be a room, but Mercy has trouble making out the outlines of what’s inside of it. She waits a few beats, which feel more like an eternity, breath caught in her throat as she braces herself for any signs of trouble… which never come. Releasing a long breath, Mercy brings her staff closer to the entrance and uses its light to check what’s inside, and finds herself utterly surprised by the sight that greets her.

There’s a few tables against the left wall, packed with all sorts of antique vases and figurines; to their right are two desks, papers strewn all over the surfaces. But what catches Mercy’s attention are the two bedrolls against the far wall, along with some blankets and backpacks that she hopes contain some supplies. 

They’ve stumbled into what looks to be an archaeologist's camp. 

Mercy wastes no time in holstering her blaster and staff and reaching for Pharah. She drapes the woman’s arm over her shoulders again, but the moment she tugs upwards, the weight seems to have increased tenfold. Panic claws at her insides and Mercy tugs harder.

“Pharah, please,” she pleads, her voice raising a few octaves, “Hold on just a little longer.”

Nothing.

“ _ Pharah _ .” 

Still nothing.

Now in full alarm mode, Mercy lets go of Pharah’s arm and kneels down on the mud next to her, quickly discarding her left glove. Her hand flies to Pharah’s exposed neck,and she’s relieved to find a pulse there under her fingertips, weak as it may be. 

Mercy lets out a breath through her nose as she reaches up to gently remove the Raptora helmet, her gloveless hand then moving to touch a cold, now fully exposed cheek. Pharah’s eyes are closed, her brow furrowed as if she’s in pain, and Mercy feels her heart breaking a little bit at the sight. 

She taps her cheek softly. “Pharah,” she tries, “Wake up.” When all she gets in return is a little whine, she tries again, this time tapping a little harder. “Pharah, come on now. We need to get you out of this rain.”

Another little broken whine escapes the other woman, but this time groggy brown eyes crack open and meet her own. 

“There you are,” Mercy finds herself saying softly.

Pharah frowns, mouth lazily opening and closing a few times before she asks, “Am I dead?”

She shoots her an incredulous look. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Mercy dryly tells her as she throws Pharah’s arm over her shoulders again. “Come on, up you go - I found us shelter.”

It’s with some difficulty that she finally manages to get Pharah to stand up and enter the blissfully dry room. Blindly she guides them towards the bedrolls and helps her sit down; then she excuses herself for a second as she reaches for a small oil lamp she’d noticed by the desks, hoping it will provide some light. 

Luck seems to be on their side, despite the odds - the lamp lights up, casting a faint orange glow around the room. 

Mercy brings it closer and gingerly places it atop a small crate by the bed rolls, catching Pharah looking around the room and taking in their surroundings for the first time. She is clearly more aware than before and looks to be rightfully surprised. 

“Did you know about this place?” she asks, eyes meeting Mercy’s.

“I didn’t,” she admits, “It was pure luck we stumbled upon it.”

“Ah.”

They’re silent after that. Mercy discards her other glove and then makes herself busy looking through the backpacks for any spare medical supplies, while Pharah sits there watching her. She notices the eyes on her, as she always does. It's impossible not to, considering they’ve been a constant lately and never fail to make her nervous; and that, along with the touches - the fleeting hand on the small of her back, the brush of shoulders when they’re close to one another, their evening flights outside the Watchpoint spent with hands clasped tight on each other's grip - spell a completely different meaning to their ever growing friendship.

Mercy - no,  _ Angela _ \- is afraid to find out what that may be. 

She lets out a little happy noise when she comes across a small first-aid kit at the bottom of one of the backpacks. It’s not much, but there’s enough gauze, tape, and antiseptic to stave off infection, along with some over the counter painkillers that will surely help. She turns to Pharah then, full doctor mode engaged, but finds herself freezing when she opens her mouth and her brain supplies just exactly what she needs to tell the other woman.

_ ‘Come on, Angela, keep yourself together!’ _

“Your- uh, your armor needs to come off.”

To her great mortification, Pharah’s lips twitch in clear amusement at the words. “So forward, Doctor Ziegler. I was hoping you’d let me buy you dinner first.”

Mercy lets out an undignified noise, a warm flush spreading through her neck and cheeks which she hopes the other woman won't notice. Leave it to Pharah to be  _ trying to flirt  _ while injured. "That is not-" she interrupts herself to clear her throat and tries again. "I need to be able to assess your injuries."

"Of course. That's what doctors do."

She sounds practical and understanding, but the damn smirk plastered on her face tells Mercy she's still in a teasing mood. She decides to ignore it in favour of making a show of lining up the medical supplies atop the small crate, while Pharah begins the process of removing her suit. She can hear every clasp unlatching, every metal part coming loose with a small hiss. If she focuses, she can tell exactly which piece is being removed from where, purely based on the noise it makes. She shouldn't be able to tell that - and yet…

Mercy is so distracted with her own thoughts that she doesn't even realise Pharah is done removing her armor until the sound of a throat clearing gets her attention. Her gaze flickers towards the other woman, finding her sitting there in just a simple plain top and shorts, dog tags hanging around her neck. She's disarmed by the sight, somehow. It's rare to actually see the woman that hides underneath all that armor these days. 

Angela tries not to think too much about that either and instead moves closer, fingers reaching out to touch surprisingly warm skin. There's a few cuts and scrapes along Pharah's arms and legs - most are pretty shallow and don't require much more than a quick wipe with antiseptic, but there's a gash on the left bicep that appears to still be bleeding sluggishly. Mercy hears an hiss the moment the disinfectant touches the injury there, muscle growing taunt under her fingers. 

"Sorry," she finds herself murmuring, "I'll be more gentle."

Pharah doesn't say anything to that but does seem to relax under her touch as it grows more soft and barely there. She bandages it before moving downwards to clean a scrape on her knee and another long, shallow cut along her leg. Mercy finds herself raising an eyebrow once she sits back to inspect her handiwork. Surely that couldn't be all of it…

Her eyes flicker up and immediately narrow in suspicion when she notices the sheepish expression Pharah regards her with. 

Not to mention the way she sits hunched on the bed roll, instead of straight and stoic like she always does.

Mercy knows her too well by now to know she's hiding something.

"Come on, let's see it." She tells her, voice carrying the authoritative tone of a doctor on the case. "Don't make me scan you from head to toe."

The last threat is empty with the Valkyrie suit being out of commission for the moment, but Pharah doesn't know that. She just hopes that's enough to dissuade the other woman from hiding any potentially worrisome injuries she may have from her.

Pharah clenches her jaw, as if in one last gesture of defiance, but ends up relenting with a sigh under Mercy’s piercing gaze. She lifts the edge of her tank top until the blossoming bruise on her left side, just above her ribs, comes to light. Mercy lets out a breath through her nose at the sight of it. 

“Concussive shot,” she says and Mercy simply offers a hum in acknowledgement as one of her hands moves to carefully touch the purples and blues and yellows there, gently pressing to check for any further damage. “The armor caught most of it, I think. Nothing feels broken.”

She winces when Mercy presses against a particularly tender spot, but no more than that. “If there was anything, the staff already took care of it.” Mercy’s eyes flicker upwards to meet Pharah’s own, her hand still lingering on her skin. “Even so, don’t hide these sorts of things from me, Pharah. I’m here to help.”

“Call me Fareeha.”

“... What?”

“You can drop the formalities, Angela,” she tells her, one of her hands moving until it’s resting right above her own. “It’s just the two of us here.”

“Oh, of course… Fareeha.”

She smiles, and Angela returns it with one of her own. She can feel Fareeha’s steady heartbeat under her fingertips and the way her hand feels much warmer against her own, and that’s enough to bring back the familiar fluttering feeling in her chest that makes itself known whenever Fareeha is close. They’ve been dancing around this exact sort of thing for weeks now. It’s… overwhelming. 

She doesn’t even know how or when, but their faces have somehow moved closer, as if gravity has exercised its pull. 

A particularly loud rumble of thunder jolts Angela into awareness and she scrambles away, turning around to hide the furious blush no doubt turning her cheeks crimson. Behind her, she hears Fareeha let out something under her breath, which sounds awfully like a curse. 

She’s not sure if she’s more glad or upset the spell was broken. 

Angela clears her throat, trying to keep her voice neutral despite the way her heart is threatening to burst out of her chest. “You should get some rest.”

“So should you.”

“I’m not the one injured.”

Fareeha clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Maybe not, but I can see you’re exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“ _ Angela. _ ”

“ _ Fareeha.” _

“Fine!” Angela finally relents, if only because her Valkyrie suit is starting to feel like it weighs just as much as the entire world. An exaggeration, of course, which her shoulders seem to agree with regardless. “Just-” she gestures wildly, even if Fareeha can’t actually see it. “Turn around and get yourself comfortable. I need to remove my suit.”

That teasing tone makes its comeback again. “No need to be shy, Angela.”

She hmphs and crosses her arms, refusing to do anything until the other woman does exactly as she said. It takes a few beats for Fareeha to finally relent with a quick  _ ‘fine’,  _ followed by the sound of rustling sheets and moving covers. Angela waits until she’s sure Fareeha has settled before she finally starts to remove her own armor. The halo goes first, followed by the wings and the weapons. She rolls her shoulders then and can’t help letting out a delighted noise when something seems to pop into place. Her boots go next, along with the actual armor, leaving her in just the skintight black bodysuit she wears underneath. It feels damp, but she’s not wearing much else under that so she figures she can simply wriggle out of it once she’s safely tucked in one of the bed rolls, sparing herself of more possible embarrassment. 

Happy with her planning, Angela turns around only to freeze in place as her eyes catch sight of Fareeha buried under a few blankets, lazily sprawled  _ in the middle  _ of the two bedrolls. She had clearly pulled them together when Angela wasn’t looking.

“Uh, Fareeha…” she calls out, “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

A hand peeks out from under the blankets to blindly pat at a spot right next to where Fareeha is laying. “Here.”

Angela moves closer, squinting at the scene. “There’s only space for me if you move to one of the bedrolls.”

She must have said something really outrageous - or offensive - because next thing she knows brown eyes are glancing at her in an accusatory matter. “There’s plenty of space for you.”

Angela opens her mouth to disagree, but the words are caught in her throat when a hand shoots out and grabs her own, forcefully tugging her down onto the bedrolls. Unprepared for the motion, she falls right into Fareeha with an  _ ‘oof’ _ . It takes her a moment to get her bearings, but when she finally looks up, a pair of mischievous brown eyes stare back at her own. 

They’re basically face-to-face now. Angela finds herself blushing again without really meaning to, much to Fareeha’s apparent amusement. 

“This is really not what I meant,” she somehow manages to say, despite realizing she can feel Fareeha’s every warm exhale against her lips.

“It’s not what I meant either,” Fareeha shoots back, grinning. “You’re supposed to get under the covers.”

Angela doesn’t know what possesses her to let out her next words. “I thought you were supposed to buy me dinner first…?”

They’re both surprised by the flirty remark. Angela’s eyes widen the second she realizes what she’s said, while Fareeha raises her eyebrows and parts her lips, clearly taken aback. It’s the first time Angela has actually fired back with a remark of her own. 

Embarrassed, she looks away and makes to scramble out of the bedrolls, but before she can get far, a pair of arms wrap around her waist and lock her in place. She freezes. 

“Aren’t you tired?” she hears Fareeha ask softly, and it’s impossible not to hear the double meaning behind those words.

Angela lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding as her body seems to melt into the one below her of its own accord. She tilts her head after a minute, burying her nose into damp brown strands. They still give off a faint scent of cinnamon and other spices, despite all the rain. Her admittance is quiet and barely there, just a whispered, ‘ _ I am,’ _ against Fareeha’s hair. 

The arms around her hold tighter, the only sign she gets that her words have been heard. 

There’s no telling for how long they lay like that until Fareeha speaks again. “Come on,” she tells her as she lets go, allowing Angela to move again. “Lay down with me.”

She raises herself up, eyes easily finding Fareeha’s own. Her gaze is much softer than it has ever been, and the sight of it causes a comfortable warmth to radiate from her chest and spread through the rest of her. A hand gingerly moves to cradle her cheek, thumb rubbing gentle circles there and that’s when Angela can’t take it anymore. 

Her eyes close as she leans down and finally -  _ finally  _ \- allows herself to press her lips against Fareeha’s. The kiss is soft and tentative, miles from what she had imagined their first would be - just the gentle press of lips against one another, with none of them pushing for more than that. 

When they finally part and she opens her eyes again, she’s met with a warm gaze and a goofy smile. A small laugh escapes her at the sight, and she can’t help but lean down for a quick kiss.

It’s Fareeha’s turn to laugh. “Okay, not that I’m complaining or anything, but you definitely should get under the covers. You feel cold.”

As if on cue, a shiver runs down her spine and Angela reluctantly pulls back and away from Fareeha. She lifts the covers up and situates herself so she can finally slip in into blissful warmth, but ends up pausing when she notices the way the other woman is scrunching up her nose. 

“What?”

“You’re not sleeping in  _ that. _ ” Fareeha says, faintly gesturing to what Angela is wearing. “It’s still damp.”

Her cheeks flush again. “I don’t have much else underneath it,” she confesses.

Fareeha shoots her a look. “And?”

She stammers, eyes looking everywhere but at her. “I would feel awfully underdressed.”

“If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’m willing to take my top off.”

“ _ Fareeha! _ ”

“What?”

In the end, all her previous mortifications are long forgotten the moment she sinks into the warmth of Fareeha’s arms and rests her head against her chest. There’s of course still the matter of finding the rest of their team and the lingering worry that thought brings, but for now Angela allows herself this small reprieve. 

They’ve both earned it, after all. 

Outside the room the storm grows quiet, and the little rain and wind left lull her into an easy sleep. 


End file.
